


Keeping Up with the Alternate Hell Timeline of 2020

by ashspren, sconelover



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: 2020 US Presidential Election, Alex is Stressed™, COVID-19, Claremont 2020, Crack, Crack Fic, Crack not taken an ounce seriously, Henry Is A Good Boyfriend, Kanye 2020, M/M, Philip is a killjoy but what’s new, Political Jokes, Politics, and pretending it’s not real, but tbh you can’t make this shit up, healthy dose of Saturday Night Live, literally just making fun of everything that happened this year, please don’t inject bleach, say it with us now FLY will vote this year, these gender reveal parties are really on fire this year huh, we are desperately trying to escape to the alternate timeline of RWRB, we hope this helps y’all make it through tonight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27377452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashspren/pseuds/ashspren, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover
Summary: Alex needs a distraction before the upcoming election. Luckily, Henry is prepared with his new favorite reality TV show:Keeping Up with the Alternate Hell Timeline of 2020.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 72
Kudos: 136





	Keeping Up with the Alternate Hell Timeline of 2020

**November 1, 2020**

“Doing okay, love?” Henry asks. After posing for the cameras all day, spending time at Bea’s event setup, and dealing with Philip, Alex is exhausted. Not to mention, he’s so stressed that his hands are literally twitching for his Texas Binder.

“Yeah, fine,” he says, slipping his cell phone back into his pocket. No new notifications. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Henry raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Don’t give me that. You just checked your phone for the fourth time in five minutes.” 

“I’m fine.” Alex kisses his boyfriend on the cheek. His official, royal, crown-approved (more like crown-acquiesced) boyfriend. He could get used to that.

“You can’t distract me like that,” Henry admonishes melodramatically. He looks down his nose at Alex. “I’m _royalty,_ you American peasant.” 

Alex just laughs and slips his hand into Henry’s. It’s nice to love each other out in the open like this. Really, really nice. Unless his mom loses the election, there’s really nothing to complain about. And speaking of… 

_Bzzt._

Alex uses his free hand to swipe open his phone again. He groans. “Richards is ahead in Alabama.” 

Henry’s silent for a moment. “Did you really expect to win Alabama, Alex? Did you?” 

“No, but—” 

“Exactly,” Henry says firmly. He grabs Alex’s phone, turns on Do Not Disturb, and slips it into his own pocket. “You’re stressing out about nothing.”

That’s probably true, to be honest. He just hates the idea of losing his mom the election because of a trashy tabloid scandal. If they don’t flip Texas, he can at least subconsciously keep a few states as backup. 

But like, Alabama wasn’t even one of them.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

Henry gives him a soft smile. “Don’t apologize; it’s a stressful time. Besides, I have something I want to show you when we get back. I think it’ll make a nice distraction.” 

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

**_Keeping Up with the Alternate Hell Timeline of 2020._ **

“The fuck?”

“Okay, yes, I know this sounds strange,” Henry admits. “But Bea discovered this show a little while ago, and it is the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Alex reads the description on the screen. _‘"The year 2020 is possibly the most dangerous yet. With a deadly global pandemic, a dysfunctional government, and a vital election, the United States is on the brink of collapse. What’s more? The fate of the world could be at stake. Associated genres: dystopia, political drama, comedy.’_ Where the hell does ‘comedy’ fit in with the rest of this?” 

Henry shrugs, lying back on the sofa and opening a packet of Jaffa Cakes. David lifts his head from the corner of the room, but seems to decide that the journey isn’t worth it. “They make it work. Want to start from the beginning, or shall I skip ahead?” 

“You can skip.” Alex sits down next to Henry, puts his feet up on the cushions, and leans into his side. 

The show is absurdist at best, Alex thinks. The events are literally so unfeasible that he could never even imagine them happening. But it’s well-made, portraying catastrophe after catastrophe as if they’ve been happening in real life. Clips of the “news,” press conferences, and live feeds are expertly stitched together to form one big hellscape montage.

“So, let me get this straight,” Alex says, stealing a Jaffa Cake from between Henry’s fingers. “They found out about the pandemic and then just… didn’t do anything about it? That literally would _never_ happen under the Claremont Administration.”

“Certainly. But see,” Henry says, pointing to the screen. Alex follows his gaze to a man who looks like an Oompa Loompa with a bad spray tan. “That’s the President. Unfortunately. The Director of the NIAID—” he points to the President’s right— “is Dr. Fauci, who told the President about it in mid-January, but they didn’t mandate a lockdown until March. Very skewed timeline in my opinion, but that’s why it’s fictional.”

“Huh,” Alex says. “The President looks really familiar.” 

“He’s some reality TV host-slash-real estate mogul? From New York?” 

Alex blinks. “They got _Donald Trump_ to play the president on this show? _He’s_ the president? They seriously couldn’t find anyone else?”

“I never said it was realistic.”

“Hellscape indeed,” he mutters.

The newscaster on screen looks concerned as “footage” of an event plays behind her; in a sea of red, most of the attendees aren’t wearing masks. “We are anticipating another wave of COVID-19 following President Trump’s rallies…”

“No shit,” Alex says, throwing up a hand in exasperation. “And haven’t there been like, seventeen waves?”

“It keeps getting better,” Henry informs him cheerfully.

“This is fucking painful,” Alex groans. “Can we just skip ahead to Election Day? I want to see this dude _out."_

“We can skip to August or so. No further. But first we’re going to watch the Great Toilet Paper Wars of March 2020.”

“The what.”

Henry grins and fast forwards a bit. “Just watch.”

Two Karens are fistfighting on the floor of Walmart. _“That’s my value pack, you bitch!”_

“Oh my God,” says Alex. “What the _fuck_ am I watching.” 

“It’s under the ‘Apocalypse’ category on Netflix for a reason, darling.”

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

  
  


**September 18, 2020**

“It has now been found that the source of the raging fires across Northern California was a gender reveal party,” says the newscaster.

“A _gender—_ what is this even— Okay, back up to, like, Episode 2,” Alex says, throwing his hands up in a stop-everything gesture. “Too many unknown elements. I need context.”

“I knew you’d get into it.” Henry sounds smug. Alex wants to punch him. Or kiss him. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance to do either.

“Ooh, _Keeping Up with the Alternate Hell Timeline of 2020?!”_ calls a perky voice. Bea pokes her head into the room, holding a disgruntled Mr. Wobbles in her arms. “I love that show.”

“How?” Alex asks in a broken voice. “I’m literally dying inside.” 

Henry makes eye contact with Bea, and an understanding passes between them. “Americans,” they say simultaneously. 

“Y’all just wanna watch America burn.”

He pats Alex gently on the shoulder. “I know it hits rather close to home—”

“Not in _my_ America,” Alex grumbles.

“—but look on the bright side. Donald Trump would _never_ run for President.” 

“I don’t even know anymore,” he complains. “This show’s fucking with my sense of reality and… and…”

“Truth and justice?” suggests Henry, consolingly.

“Truth and justice,” Alex agrees in a forlorn voice.

“Oh come on.” Bea plops down on the couch next to Alex, depositing Mr. Wobbles onto his lap. The fat cat gives him only the most perfunctory of interested glances before curling up and closing his eyes. “Be realistic. Only in a fake-reality dramedy would all these things be crammed into one year. Remember Australia burning down? And a potential World War III?”

“Don’t forget racism,” Henry adds.

“That’s not new,” Alex says.

 _“More_ racism.”

“But the Black Lives Matter movement has a new wave!” Bea says. “That’s a good thing.”

Henry nods sagely. “The one good thing about this hellish timeline.”

“But also, the murder hornets!” Bea grins. 

“The _what.”_

“They were only around for an episode,” Henry says dismissively. “They weren’t that important.”

Just then, on the screen: “A team of researchers found an insect whose biology appears to match that of the murder hornets in Arizona this morning. Here to comment is––”

“Oh!” exclaims Bea. “I guess they’re back!”

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

**May 6, 2020**

“Elon Musk and Grimes have just had their first child together. While that would be a headline in of itself, their son is already making a splash in the media because of his unique name: X Æ A-Xii.”

“It’s pronounced ‘X-Ash-A-Twelve,’” says actual Elon Musk on the TV. 

Alex gapes. “They got Elon Musk in on this?!” 

“It’s an all-star cast indeed,” Henry says without a hint of sarcasm.

“But like—”

“I know.” 

He groans. “Skip this, it’s not important.” 

“Just wait,” says Bea, grinning. “It’s about to get good.” 

“Eh.”

The date on the screen changes to _July 4th._ Pictured is someone’s Twitter feed. 

> **Ye** ✓ _@kanyewest_
> 
> **We must now realize the promise of America by trusting God, unifying our vision and building our future. I am running for president of the United States! #2020VISION.**

“Oh my God,” Alex says. “Kanye’s in this?

“Of course,” answers Henry, as if it should be obvious. “He’s running for president.”

Alex feels his face morph into an expression of visible confusion. “But wh— I’m so confused. What the hell. What’s his party? Who’s his running mate?” 

“The Birthday Party. And I forgot.” 

He buries his face in Henry’s shoulder. “Nope. We’re not thinking about this.” 

“Kim Kardashian would be the First Lady.” 

“Do _not.”_

And then, in the comments section: 

> **Elon Musk** ✓ _@ElonMusk_
> 
> **You have my full support!**

“ELON, NO!” 

“Don’t worry,” Henry says, bored. “I never understood this part of the episode. Seems unnecessary.”

Bea rolls her eyes. “Shush, H. It’s quality entertainment.”

Some news clips pop up.

“And we’re not going crazy, we’re going Yeezy,” Kanye insists. “It’s a whole ‘notha level now. N-O-T-H-A.”

“What swag,” Henry comments in a dry voice. Alex snorts. Bea steals the Jaffa Cakes from Henry, and he practically tackles her across Alex’s lap to get them back. 

Kanye’s speaking to the interviewer again. “When they say the way we’re going to fix Covid is with a vaccine, I’m extremely cautious. That’s the mark of the beast. They want to put chips inside of us, they want to do all kinds of things, to make it where we can’t cross the gates of heaven.”

“You’re better than this, Elon. Come on, come on, come on,” Alex chants under his breath.

Finally:

> **Elon Musk** ✓ _@ElonMusk_
> 
> **@kanyewest We may have more differences of opinion than I anticipated.**

“Yes!”

Henry smirks. “Looks like you are getting invested after all.” 

“Moment of weakness,” Alex insists, whirling on him. “Stop.”

Henry kisses him. “Mhm, sure.” 

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

**The Independence Day Exclusive: Keeping Up with the Trumps**

The screen cuts to a TikTok video. A teenager is dancing to the song “Say So” by Doja Cat, but the text is a great contrast from the upbeat song. Alex finds himself humming along. Henry looks over at him with an intensely judgemental glare.

_i found barron trump’s roblox acct y’all_

_it says “I like anime. I play AdoptMe. I’m nice and friendly. I don’t like toxic people!!”_

_his parents wont let him on social media it’s so depressing_

_#freebarron2020 guys he’s one of us_

“Oh,” says Alex. “That’s… kind of sad, actually?”

“I know, it hurts my heart,” Bea says completely earnestly. 

The next scene cuts to headlines of a man giving a pre-Fourth of July speech at Mount Rushmore. One reads: “Donald Trump Jr. Breaks COVID Rules, Where’s Brother Eric?”

“I honestly forgot about them,” Henry says. “They seem so irrelevant to the show.” 

“Tweedledumb and tweedledumber,” quips Bea. She returns Alex’s fistbump. 

Next, there’s a video of Ivanka giving a speech, followed by her husband, Jared Kushner. Alex chokes. “Senior Advisor to the President? Him? Really? He looks like a long-dead twelve-year-old.” 

Bea snorts but still says, “That’s not very nice, Alex.” 

“It’s true!” 

Henry keeps his eyes on the screen. “That’s Melania. She’s Trump’s wife—his third one—and she doesn’t seem to like him very much. And the girl on her left is—”

“Tiffany,” Alex says. “Yep. I’ve seen her on the Rich Kids of Instagram account.” 

Bea wrinkles her nose. 

And then the episode is over. 

“Wow. That was… uneventful,” Alex remarks. “Like, it makes me miss the Kardashians. I would have _paid_ to see Eric hit Don Jr. with a designer handbag.” 

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

“What,” says a snarky, judgmental voice from the doorframe, “in the name of _God_ are you all watching.”

 _“Keeping Up with the Alternate Hell Timeline of 2020,”_ Bea responds brightly. “Care to join us, Pip?” 

“Not particularly.” He sighs. “Martha enjoys it, but it’s just so… _unrealistic._ I fail to see how this could be entertaining whatsoever.” 

Bea squishes Alex to the side to make room on the side of the couch. Mr. Wobbles screeches in complaint. “Come _on,_ Philip. It’s bashing American incompetence. One of your guilty pleasures, I’m sure.”

“We’re not incompetent!” Alex protests. “I mean, they are in this show. But seriously, this _bullshit_ would never happen under Mom’s cabinet. They’re just struggling because they haven’t faced the sheer force of her Powerpoint presentations.”

Philip sighs. “I guess I could stay for an episode or so.” 

Alex and Henry exchange a glance. This is an… unexpected turn of events. Philip perches next to Bea gingerly, as if the alternate hellscape timeline might infect him from the television across the room. (There _is_ a pandemic, after all.)

Music begins to play from the background. _“Now from the top, make it drop, that’s a WAP, that’s a WAP—"_

Alex starts laughing. “Please tell me this is the theme song. _Please.”_

“Yes.” Henry sounds like he’s holding back laughter of his own. “It is.” 

“I’m almost relieved WAP still exists in this timeline,” Alex notes. “These people need some good old-fashioned twerking in their lives.”

“Beatrice,” Philip says, horrified. “What are you _doing?”_

Beatrice beams as she drops into the splits. “I learned the TikTok dance!” 

Alex might have tears streaming down his face. Henry struggles to breathe. 

“Well,” Henry says, struggling to compose himself. “That’s rather apt, isn’t it?” 

Alex turns his attention back to the screen and... 

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

**August 24, 2020**

_“Trump Administration Calls for TikTok Ban.”_

Alex gasps. “No. This would never– Gen Z would start a coup!” 

“Yes,” Henry replies solemnly. “They almost do, later this episode.” His expression morphs to horror as Mr. Wobbles takes advantage of his distraction to make a mad grab for his Jaffa Cakes. He holds them up in the air. “How many times do I have to tell you, Mr. Wobbles? These are _not_ for you!”

“Don’t worry,” Bea cuts in, turning to Alex. “TikTok gets bought by Oracle. Sorry, is that a spoiler?” 

“By who?”

Philip gets to his feet. “Right, Mazzy said we needed to, um. Go. To something. Right, well. I suppose I must leave, then.” 

Bea grabs his arm and tugs him back down to the couch. “Sit your arse down and _don’t you dare move, Philip.”_

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

**September 30, 2020**

“And,” Trump declares confidently on the screen, “we will have a vaccine by January 2021.” 

“Bullshit!” Alex screams. “That doesn’t _scientifically make sense!”_

“I know, love,” Henry soothes, rubbing circles into his back while Bea cackles off to the side. “I know.” 

Alex is fuming. “Can he please stop giving blatantly false medical statements. Can he _please.”_

“Better than the time when he told everyone to inject bleach.” 

“When he _what?!”_

“This is what happens when you skip episodes! You miss important plot points!” 

“How the _fuck_ was I supposed to know—”

“Wait, sorry,” Philip cuts in. “A vaccine for what?” 

“Coronavirus,” Bea answers.

Philip frowns. “And… what is this ‘corona virus’?” 

“Deadly pandemic, Philip,” she sighs. “God. Take notes, if you must.” 

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

**October 3, 2020**

_President Donald Trump has just tested positive for the coronavirus._

_Donald Trump, el presidente de los Estados Unidos, da positivo para el coronavirus._

_Donald Trump admis à l'hôpital, positif au coronavirus._

“Holy shit,” Alex says. “I want to laugh, but then I’d feel bad.” 

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” Henry counsels. “It’s karma, plain and simple.”

“Well,” says Philip. “As… thrilling as this has been, I fear I must take my leave. It’s nearly eleven.” 

“Yeah, I should probably get to bed as well,” Bea says, standing and scooping up Mr. Wobbles. “Good night, lovebirds.” 

“Night,” Henry says. 

Alex shifts to straddle him as soon as Bea closes the door, like he’s been wanting to ever since Henry rolled up his shirtsleeves about two hours ago. Henry kisses him back obligingly, hands strong on his hips, and Alex is wondering if they should head to the bedroom themselves—

And then the next episode starts, and Henry fucking _pushes_ him off.

“Fucking tease.”

“Shh. You’ll miss the debate.”

Alex perks up at that. “Debate?”

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

**October 11, 2020.**

The Saturday Night Live logo floods the screen. “Oh my god,” Alex says. “They made fake SNL?”

Dramatic music plays as the camera pans in on Maya Rudolph and Beck Bennett, dressed up and seated in what appears to be a performing arts center. Kate McKinnon _,_ the legend herself, is moderating. (Alex met her once at a White House gala. It was awesome.)

“The _real_ SNL cast?” he says incredulously.

“Are you surprised that SNL wanted in on this nightmare sequence?” Henry gives a cheeky shrug. “Like I’ve been saying, it’s top comedy.”

The debate ensues. Alex throws a half-eaten Jaffa Cake at Beck Bennett, who’s playing the role of––

“Mike Pence?!”

“Mhmm.”

“He’s like,” Alex says, floundering to find the right words. “The world’s most homophobic person. What the _fuck_ did they do to get this guy in office.” 

Henry just shrugs again. “Be homophobic?” 

“His face looks like the bottom of a stingray,” Alex supplies. “You know, super white and flat with a few questionably-placed spots?”

“Christ, I can’t unsee it now.”

They keep watching. It seems civil enough. 

“I think I might have gotten some chocolate on the screen. There’s this dark spot?” 

“Where?”

“Like, on Mike Pence’s head.” 

“Oh,” Henry says innocently. “Just watch.” 

A moment of realization, and then it hits. “...Oh my God, it’s a fly. There’s a fly on him. Why hasn’t he noticed? This would never happen on a real televised debate.” 

Maya Rudolph, who’s playing Kamala Harris (“Bless,” Alex says), pulls out her phone. “Do your civic duty and please visit _fly_ willvote.com—” she winks— “and contribute to the Biden-Harris campaign by buying one of our quality fly swatters on our website, joebiden.com.”

“Joe Biden?” Alex shakes his head. “I’m not in unless he brings Obama with him.”

“I mean,” Henry points out, “his campaign slogan is essentially ‘Settle for Biden.’”

“Very catchy.”

“I know.” 

Kate McKinnon speaks up from the screen. “I can assure you that the trending topic on Twitter tonight will be one of the _humans_ from tonight’s debate. For sure. 

“Anyway, thank you, Senator Harris and Vice President Pence, for the debate today. Unlike last week’s Presidential debate, this one didn’t feel like being the only child in the middle of a fight between pre-divorced parents. To recap…” 

The screen fades to some sort of pavilion, where real Donald Trump and Joe Biden are standing at podiums. 

Alex frowns. “This doesn’t seem like SNL.” 

“It’s not,” says Henry, as text scrolls across the bottom of the screen: 

_This is real footage. The candidates are not actors from Saturday Night Live._

“Is that _actually_ Joe Biden?”

“All-star cast,” Henry reminds him airily.

A man makes a grim expression on the screen. “Hello, and welcome to the first Presidential Debate. My name is Chris Wallace, and I’ll be your moderator.” 

Alex says, “This should be good. He seems like a competent, composed person to moderate, especially between these two candidates.” 

Henry bursts out laughing. 

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He squeezes Alex’s hand. “Let’s just watch.” 

Alex’s fingers itch for a pen; he usually takes notes during political debates. He soon finds that he can’t with this one.

Because five minutes in, Trump and Biden are in a screaming match. 

“And when he bashed fracking—”

“I didn’t do that!” 

“Yes you did, you changed your mind in Scranton, there’s footage—”

“Oh, come on, man!” 

“Joe Biden wants to take your jobs—” 

“Gentlemen, please calm down,” says Chris Wallace. He is ignored. 

(“Okay, I’ll admit this script is genius,” Alex concedes. “Ridiculous, but genius. And they’re pretty good at their parts.”)

“That’s a _load_ of _malarkey,_ especially from the man who paid _seven hundred fifty dollars_ in taxes last year—” 

“I have paid _so many taxes,_ my tax numbers are _huge,_ quite frankly—”

(“Why does he say ‘huge’ like that? Is that an American thing?” “Absolutely _not.”)_

“Gentlemen!” Chris Wallace looks close to crying. He is still ignored. 

“Tell that to the New York Times. And look at your family’s dealings with other countries. You’re biased! Let’s talk about—”

“No, let’s talk about your own family. Your son is a failure. He had a drug addiction—” 

“You’re a failure! Don’t even get me started on the environment—”

“Mr. Vice President, there will be a time to address climate change.” 

“2020 has been the _best year_ for the environment; we have the cleanest water and cleanest air, and our environmental impact is, quite frankly—”

“Mr. President, I said there will be a time to—”

“Will you _shut up,_ man?!”

Henry pauses the episode. “Delightful, isn’t it?”

Alex exhales. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Americans. You uncouth savages.”

“Can we not watch this anymore?” Alex asks. “I’m going to fucking _cry.”_

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

**October 24, 2020**

“Hello, and welcome to Weekend Update! I’m Michael Che.” 

“And I’m Colin Jost.” 

A module appears on the screen, showing a picture of Mitch McConnell with bruises on his face and hands. Colin looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell—”

“Bitch McConnell!” Alex yells excitedly. 

“—seen here after physically fighting with death, did not answer questions about bruises and bandages seen on his face and hands, saying there were ‘no concerns.’” 

“I hope someone fucking decked him,” Alex says.

“What could you mean?” Henry says loftily. “There were no concerns! Also, I think those are signs of the virus. You know, the deadly one. That’s killing everyone.”

Alex groans. “This is so unrealistic. _And_ unoriginal. It’s just a knock-off of… what’s that movie? Contagion. That’s it.”

“Yes,” Henry agrees, “except in the films they usually learn their lesson and listen to the scientists at the end. Or there are aliens,” he adds, as an afterthought.

“There are aliens in this, right?” Alex says. He waves a hand at the screen. “This has aliens written all over it.”

“Yes, but they were an unimportant side plot,” Henry sighs. “A few UFO sightings in May. They were overshadowed by everything else. Such a disappointment.”

“But they stormed Area 51!” Alex insists. “They did a flashback in Episode 4! There were _interviews._ And Naruto running. And _another_ fucking ‘Old Town Road’ remix. With _Thanos._ As a _bird._ Are you telling me they didn’t find anything?”

“Not anything worth pursuing, I suppose.” Henry’s mouth quirks. “The decimation of the human race is perhaps a bit more pressing than the avian rendition of an overgrown raisin.”

Alex bursts out laughing. “Fine. I guess.” 

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

**November 1, 2020**

“Oh, this just episode just came out today,” Henry says. “I haven’t seen it yet.”

Alex lays a solemn hand on his leg. “I’m here for emotional support, babe.”

Henry rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t protest.

“Our first story concerns the coronavirus. It’s the _Home Alone 2_ of viruses, as it’s amplified the dangers of air travel, lots of it took place in New York and—right in the middle, for no good reason—is Donald-fucking-Trump.” 

“John Oliver!” Alex cheers. “I love this guy.” 

“Likewise,” agrees Henry, “but I’d like him more if he stayed in England and didn’t _betray us_ by moving to America.”

“Whatever. His political commentary is genius.”

A news clip begins playing against a _Last Week Tonight_ background featuring Trump. 

“That’s all I hear about now. That’s all I hear. I turn on television and ‘COVID, COVID. COVID, COVID, COVID! COVID. A plane goes down, 500 people die and they don’t talk about it. COVID, COVID, COVID, COVID––by the way, on November 4 you won’t hear about it anymore, so––” Trump pauses and looks at the fanatic, screaming crowd around him–– “COVID! COVID!”

“Believe me," John Oliver continues, "I would love nothing more than to not talk about COVID and instead return to subjects that we normally cover on this show, like scented candle fraud or alpaca veterinarian malpractice.”

“Okay, but honestly?” Alex says. “The alpaca veterinarian malpractice show was actually so interesting.” 

They sit and watch, eating Jaffa Cakes. Henry gets up to grab some popcorn (and it’s fucking _gourmet,_ because Orville Redenbacher’s Microwave Popcorn isn’t good enough for royalty at Kensington, apparently), and they listen as the TV host absolutely destroys the President.

John Oliver seethes. “The only things Trump has offered people in this country over the past 8 months are damaging lies, staggering incompetence and, occasionally, when he’s feeling generous, some shitty fucking pens.”

They sit in silence as the screen fades to black, followed by:

_Donald Trump and Joe Biden Return in Episode… Oh Who Even Knows At This Point, This Year Feels Fucking Endless: Election Day 2020._

“Wow.” Alex is silent for a long moment. “Well. Glad we’re not in the middle of _that_ shitshow.”

Henry smiles softly. “Feeling better, love? Less stressed about… well, this timeline?”

“It’s definitely less hellish,” Alex admits. He curls into Henry, lets himself be wrapped up in warm arms. David waddles over, jumps up on the other end of the couch, and rests his head on Alex’s feet.

He sinks into the closeness. He thinks about this year, how it’s settled like the dust of a Texas summer; lighter on his limbs than it had seemed it could be, before. 

Alex knows better than anyone that countries, like people, need someone to believe in. He has Henry. And he knows somewhere deep in his bones that in two nights, America will continue to have Ellen Claremont. 

“It’s not perfect. But it’s ours.”

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr post [here!](%E2%80%9C)
> 
> We wrote this fic in 12 hours or so. Because… we totally have our priorities straight. 
> 
> Yes, we’re facing an election with two unideal candidates. Yes, we’re living in a modern-day dystopia. But we had a lot of fun writing this. When you can’t control your circumstances, write a 4,000 word crack fic and laugh at the harshness of your own reality. *finger guns*
> 
> Shoutout to Saturday Night Live and Last Week Tonight for providing us with quality content! The videos we used can be found here:  
> [SNL Weekend Update](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d64yymX3ZiI)  
> [SNL VP Debate](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xI_lxFv203I)  
> [LWT Trump & the Coronavirus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IuVo4fnpLC8)


End file.
